Mr Monk Goes West
by Anonymississippi
Summary: Mr. Monk attempts to solve a cold case from the late 1800's. Close quarters with her boss stir some unexpected feelings in Natalie... What will happen? Rated T to be safe
1. Chapter 1

_Hello all... This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter story for Monk. I figured I'd better go ahead and get these chapters up here while the show is still on the air. *Tears* As the story goes on, the setting changes a bit, and so do the characters. Hopefully you'll notice some resemblances to our Monkish heroes! Any way, if the writing doesn't speak for itself, leave me a review and I'll try to clarify in an little pre-chapter note. The setting doesn't change for a few chapters, so you shouldn't have too much to worry about. I'll be quiet now, you came to read a story, not listen to me rant. Enjoy..._

Chapter One: Mr. Monk is Bored

"Mr. Monk, can you open the door! I've got the industrialized cleaner you wanted and your new duster thingie, but I can't reach my keys!" Natalie Teeger had just dragged three full bags of groceries up several flights of stairs to her employer's apartment.

"Mr. Monk! Open the door…" Her shouts were muffled by the incessant hum of the vacuum cleaner.

"Ugh…" Natalie grunted. She dropped one of her bags outside the front door and resituated herself. She dug through her purse to look for her keys, but the massive amounts of used wipes and antibacterial lotion in her purse provided the perfect obstacles as she searched for her keys. By the time she was able to open the door and pick up the bags, the vacuum had stopped humming and Monk was coming toward her.

"You're twenty minutes late," Monk said as he took the bag with the industrial cleaner in it.

Natalie entered his apartment and made her way to the kitchen. "Well I would have been here earlier, but your elevator was broken and you couldn't hear me knocking because you were running the vacuum cleaner… again."

"I only vacuumed last night. And you know there's nothing better than a good cleaning to start the day."

"Um yea, sure." Natalie began unpacking the groceries. Monk liked to put everything away himself, that way it was never turned crooked or placed two centimeters to the right of its normal position. "The captain hasn't called in four days, and we've run all of your errands, so I'm not really sure what we're gonna do today, unless someone up and dies."

Natalie actually would have preferred a semi-grizzly murder to the monotony of errand-running with Monk, especially when the errands became more and more ridiculous. Grocery shopping, fine. Post-office, fine. Dr. Bell, fine and dandy. At least there she got to catch up on her latest Nicholas Sparks novel while Monk was in session. But the time she had to go to city hall to request the traffic lights be centered was not a fun errand. And traveling all the way across the state to get the shoes from an o-so-specific manufacturer, not that great (ok, so that was her fault, she forgot to mail-order them like he asked). The point was, she had to find something to keep his mind occupied or she would be running yet another ridiculous errand just to keep Monk entertained.

"I think we should go down to the station, see what the captain's up to." She hoped this would get the wheels in his head turning, because, she had to admit, she loved to watch him work.

"Well you just said he hasn't called in four days."

"Oh, come on. We can at least go ask. I haven't seen a dead body in over a week. I feel like I'm missing something."

Monk nodded in agreement and grabbed his jacket before they went out the door.

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Monk and Natalie entered the station, expecting to be shooed out at any instance. Unless they were called, Captain Stottlemeyer didn't typically like unexpected visits from Monk. No one did in fact. Natalie reasoned people needed to mentally prepare for his arrival. Heck, she did the same herself before she came to work everyday.

They entered Stottlemeyer's office and were surprised by what they found. The Captain had his feet propped up on his desk, and he was… snoring? Really? It's a good thing the tax payers weren't seeing this. Monk looked down to arrange some files on the Captain's desk only to discover that there weren't any there. When Monk looked up, Stottlemeyer had opened his eyes.

"Hey, there Monk!" He said, happily, which was unusual for him. "What's shaking?"

Monk hadn't quite understood the question and looked to Natalie for an answer. Natalie ignored Monk's all-too quizzical look and addressed the Captain.

"Captain, we haven't heard from you in a few days and we were wondering if you needed help with anything." _Please need help_, she thought. She didn't think she could take another random excursion to the state park to explain the infection-carrying abilities of squirrels to a forest ranger.

"Well actually guys, we haven't had a new case in three days. We had two robberies last week, but we caught the guys, just some teens getting carried away. We had a report of a break-in on the east side of town but we put a few more black and whites on patrol yesterday and we haven't heard anything since. As far as crime goes, it's been one of the slowest weeks I've seen in years. I even gave Randy a some vacation time."

Natalie sighed and sat down on the couch in the back of the office. She just knew she was going to end up taking Monk on some wild excursion.

Monk was looking out the window… no, scratch that, looking at the window and cleaning a smudge when he asked the captain, "Do you have any cold cases I might could take a look at? You know, just for fun?"

Not many people were keen on looking at pictures of old murders for fun, but Natalie was up for anything that did not involve public embarrassment.

"You can take a look down in the archives and evidence locker, but if it's fun you're looking for, why don't you look at the old Litton case."

Monk turned to Stottlemeyer and seemed to brighten. "Do you have the case file for that?" Monk couldn't disguise the excitement in his voice.

"Yep, I sure do. You see Monk, when you become Captain, you have access to all sorts of things." Monk and Stottlemeyer exchanged knowing glances, each of them communicating something the other thought was funny.

"Wait," Natalie chimed in. "What's this case?"

"It's the Litton case." Monk said. "Something we said we'd always solve back at the academy. It's one of San Francisco's oldest and most famous unsolved murders."

"Well how come I've never heard of it?"

"Because you didn't go to the San Francisco Police Academy," Monk said matter-of-factly. "Every rookie cop that dreams of making detective thinks about solving that case at least once in his career. But it happened so long ago anything people discover now is purely conjecture, and so it remains the white whale of most detectives."

Watching Monk's eyes light up while he talked about the case made Natalie's heart jump a little. Woah, wait. Heart jump? Where did that come from? Ignoring the mild tachycardia, she turned to the captain.

"Well, if anyone can solve it, Mr. Monk can. So give us the file and what ever evidence you have and we'll go look at it for a day or two."

Monk and Stottlemeyer stared at Natalie like she had just asked Adrian to drink milk. Monk looked at his assistant with a bewildered expression. "But that's just it Natalie! It's unsolvable!"

"Oh come on now Mr. Monk. Like the captain said, things have been slow lately and you need something to do. And it would be pretty amazing if you did solve San Francisco's oldest and most known case!" _even though I've never heard of it._

Stottlemeyer nodded his head in agreement.

"Go ahead Monk. Put yourself to some good use. If anything happens and we need you, I'll call you. You don't have to worry about it. Now go on down to archives and pick up the file."

"Well, I thought we could go to the Health Department today to talk about public restrooms…"

"But I think this case would be really interesting to look at! And like you said, it's a white whale. You can go to the Health Department anytime, but when is it gonna be this slow again? You might never get a chance to look at this case file." Natalie held her breath and hoped she wouldn't be spending the afternoon listening to Monk debate a Department of Health official about the benefits of Scrubbing Bubbles as opposed to Mr. Clean.

"Yea, I guess you're right," Monk said, shuffling out the door.

"Thanks Captain. And be sure to call us if anything does come up and you need some assistance." Natalie and the captain could hear his voice echoing as he continued down the hall.

Natalie followed him but the Captain stopped her at the door. "Hey, nice save."

"Ha! There was no way I was about to drive him to the Health Department." Stottlemeyer resumed his relaxed position and started to drift off as he listened to the steady 'click click' of Natalie's kitten heels on the linoleum floor.

_Reviews are greatly appreciated... Thanks_


	2. Mr Monk Explains the Case

_Many thanks for all of the reviews! They were all so great, I just hope the story can live up to any expectations you may have. I'm going to try and update at least once a week if not more. I don't like to post anything I'm not finished with, but I figured I should go ahead and get this chapter out because it's extremely explanatory, not a lot of action (sorry). Yet again, I ramble, hope you're having a lovely Labor Day weekend!_

Forty-five minutes later, Monk and Natalie had several old documents and a box from the evidence locker piled on a table in one of the interrogation rooms. Natalie had suggested they go back to his apartment to look over the case, but Monk threw a hissy over the amount of germs and bacteria that resided in the evidence locker. He refused to transport a germ-filled box back to his apartment. He reasoned that since it was a slow week, the captain wouldn't mind them using an interrogation room for a few hours.

"So, what's this case about anyway?" Natalie was eager to hear the details, considering this was San Francisco's most famous murder. Monk looked up from reading the cover page of a thick yet ancient looking file and handed Natalie some papers and a wrinkled black and white photograph.

"You see that man sitting on the horse? That's Quert Litton. He was shot in 1876 on his ranch outside of San Francisco. He was a pretty tough guy, so a lot of people had a grudge against him. He had some Mexican ranch hands to help him run about 2,000 acres, and they were known for being a little aggressive when it came to negotiating land boundaries."

"What do you mean 'aggressive'?" Natalie asked.

"Well, Litton's main ranch hand was named Juan el Fuego, or Juan 'the fire.' He had a little problem with starting wild fires on other people's property, and once the majority of their cattle had died, the families would have no choice but to sell their land to his boss, Mr. Litton."

Monk was really enjoying himself. He rifled through the stacks of paper, looking for something specific. Natalie watched him as he removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the interrogation chair. Then he did something really weird. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled them up one, two, three times. Hmm… Three. An odd number. Maybe he was too engrossed in what was going on. Natalie liked where this was going. They may be cooped up here all day, but at least things were getting interesting. And she got to be in relatively close quarters with… wait. Don't go there. She watched him pick up another piece of paper and another old photo. This time, it was a woman. She was thin with long blonde hair. The resemblance was slightly shocking, so much so that Monk noticed too.

"Hey, look at that! You two look just alike." Monk was smiling now.

Aside from the fact that the petite woman was carrying a shotgun and was sitting on top of a beautiful sorrel (something Natalie would never, ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever do) they could have been twins. This woman looked rougher though, like she worked very hard and had had a difficult life.

"Who is she?"

Monk moved his chair closer to Natalie's and looked over her shoulder. Wow, he was very close to her. Not necessarily a bad thing. He reached around and pointed at the woman.

"That is Regina Lattee. She was the number one suspect in Litton's murder. Everyone thought she did it. She had the motive, means and opportunity. He was shot with a Winchester '72, a gun registered in her husband's name and one she often carried. She owned the last bit of land surrounding Litton's cattle dynasty, but she refused to sell. She didn't have a verifiable alibi for the time of the murder, so the sheriff took her to the town lock up."

"Wow… Well it seems like she was the killer." Natalie was fascinated by the circumstances. But somehow, she felt a personal connection to this Regina Lattee. She didn't know if it was the looks or the fact that they were both single women working in a man's world (ok, technically she was an assistant in a man's world, but she did a lot of stuff the big boys did too) But she wanted to know her story all the same.

"But why was she out there all alone? Single women didn't stand much of a chance running a ranch in the Wild West."

"She was married to Tim Lattee. He was one of the few Westerners to go back and fight in the Civil War. His family fought with the Yankees and was sent to the front lines at Gettysburg. Some people thought he deserted, but it turns out he was stealing information from behind Confederate lines. He was killed when they found out his real identity. When she got the news of his death, she kept the ranch open. Her profile said she was going to sell it and move back in town to teach at the mission on the south side of the city, but she refused to sell it to Litton. If anyone else had made an offer, she would have sold it. The only thing was, Litton had bought every other rancher out, and no one had enough money to buy it and then invest in it enough to make a profit. According to this deed, she sold it to the city government about a year after Litton's murder."

"Why was she so dead-set on rejecting Litton's offer?"

"After her husband died, Litton asked her to marry him. I mean, she had a lot of land and was extremely attractive and…" (Pause… Rewind… He did not just say she was attractive. Well, not her Natalie her, but her Regina her, who looks like her (Natalie)… ok well, there was no mistaking Monk had just said Regina was attractive which by transitive property makes Natalie attractive and if that's the case then…) "which is why she declined his offer. I mean, wouldn't you? Natalie? Hey Natalie!"

Natalie snapped out of her trance when Monk began waving his hand in front of her face. Gosh, I wish he would stop doing that, I can smell him more… "Yea, sure, what girl wouldn't?"

"Yea well, she just didn't want to sell it to someone who already had money. But, as far as the murder goes, they had good evidence to convict her."

"Wait, I thought that this was an unsolved murder."

"It is. She didn't do it. There was a lawyer that had just moved to her area from the East Coast and he was able to prove she didn't do it."

"But you said they had hard evidence against her."

"They had evidence, but most of it was circumstantial. And, he just so happened to be her alibi."

"Why didn't she just tell them that?"

"Well, let's just say they were together under questionable circumstances. And Regina would have rather lied on the stand than have her lawyer's character compromised." Monk got up and walked around to the other side of the table and pulled the last few documents out of the box. She felt him move and though he was still less than five feet away, she wanted to be closer. He glanced at her and smiled again. _Wow! Twice in one morning… we've got to work cold cases more often._

"Sounds like she really cared about him."

Monk nodded and pulled another picture from the very back of the folder. It was creased and faded and difficult to make out the images. Natalie could see Regina, smiling, dressed in an old-timey gown with lace and ruffles. And beside her, a black-headed man with deep, soulful dark eyes, holding a briefcase and smiling a very sheepish smile. She couldn't make out all of the details of his face, but she thought, just for the time being, she would pretend he looked liked Monk. She could see resemblances, but not as many as between her and Regina. She continued to stare at the picture, and then finally asked, "What was his name?"

"Nik Dranoam. Weird name if you ask me."

"Well, it's unique."

"Unique is what parents say to mediocre kids to make them feel better." Natalie gave him a cutting look, and returned her gaze to the photographs.

Monk continued, "He went to Harvard Law School, so he was obviously smart. No one knew why he moved all the way out west."

"I'm sure he had his reasons. But I want to start looking at some evidence. I think I've got enough backstory on these two. They thought she did it, she didn't, he proved it, they lived happily ever after. Yay. Let's get back to Mr. Litton. I want to figure out what happened to him."

Monk perked up and sat back down beside Natalie. _Ah, close quarters once again._ "Alright. Hand me Regina Lattee's land deed. It all starts there."

_Reviews let me know you're reading... just saying. : D_


	3. Mr Monk Has a Flashback

_Ok, so here we go back in time just a bit. I figured it was ok that I changed characters for this chapter because a new epsiode is coming on tonight! *Jumps and does happy dance* Actually that's just how the story is written. How will Monk figure out the case if he doesn't know what's going on with the victims/suspects? Congrats to the people who rearranged and figured out the names! So, it's a little longer, but i hope you'll like it. oh, and i used google earth so i don't know if it's actually still inhabited..._

_I don't own anything or anyone.... sadly  
_

Date: May 1876 Place: Reliez Valley; 45 miles NE of San Francisco

Man it was hot. Really hot. Not the breezy spring he had grown accustomed to back in New England. And it wasn't even noon yet! He shrugged out of his suit jacket and placed it on the back of his chair. He got up from behind his cherry wood desk and went to open the nearest window. He looked out the window at the scorched earth and rethought the locale of his business establishment. He was renting this office from the barber next door, but maybe he could find a place that wasn't in the direct line of the sun. It wasn't large, but it had room enough for his filing cabinets, desk, lounge area, and his four bookcases full of law journals and other tomes. He had to keep up with standard American case law, even if he was out in the boonies. He went back to his desk and stopped to polish the placard that held his name and title: Nikolous Dranoam, Attorney at Law. Humph, some attorney, he thought. He hadn't had anyone stop by in four days, except for the local mayor and sheriff. They had come and introduced themselves when he moved to town, if you could call this place a town, and said if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was ask. The sheriff seemed like a nice guy, older with a deep booming voice and a mustache as yellow as the corn at harvest time. The mayor didn't seem as friendly. And for a politician, that seemed strange. He had stood back while Sheriff Tresom did the welcoming.

Aside from the icy encounter with the mayor, all seemed to be going well in Reliez Valley. Dranoam had needed a change, so he made his way cross-country to the sleepy little town northeast of San Francisco. There wasn't much around, but he figured he could find some land disputes to settle, or wills or legalities of that nature. And if not, it was only a two-day commute to the city to do some real work. As of now, however, Mr. Dranoam had three clients, one being himself, and the others being Old Ms. Lott (for whom he needed to get affairs in order; she was sure to go in the next year or so) and his neighbor, the barber Davin Kneromf, an immigrant from Verbosastan. Mr. Kneromf really enjoyed talking, so much so that it took Dranoam nearly three hours to draw up an insurance file for Mr. Kneromf's shop, and another half hour to get the man to sign it. Dranoam thought he was lonely, and Dranoam didn't really know anyone in town, so he thought it best to let Mr. Kneromf drone on so he wouldn't alienate the only citizen he actually knew.

As his hopes for taking on any new clients for the rest of the week continued to dwindle, Dranoam noticed a cloud of dust outside his now open window. He heard a horse whinny, and hoped someone was coming by for legal advice, not stopping next door for a trim and a shave (which, by the way, he needed one himself; he hated looking gruff around potential clients; check that, he hated looking gruff in general). He watched the dust settle and heard the scuff of boots on the porch outside his office. Hmm, short guy, He could tell that the man was light on his feet. There was no waiting room to provide a segue from entrance to office, so Dranoam quickly put his jacket back on and tried to make himself look as busy as an attorney with three clients could look. He heard a knock at the door and said, "Come in."

He had stood to shake the hand of what he was hoping would be some big-league cattle rancher or rail road president, but what he got was quite different. She was short, petite, with blonde hair and eyes like a robin's egg. She was pretty, that was definite, but rugged too, like she could handle any confrontation thrown her way. He guessed as much when he saw her strapped with a six-shooter on her right side. He stepped from behind his desk, hand still outstretched, to greet Miss-petite-blonde-gun-slinger.

"Mr. Dranoam?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Regina Lattee. I hear you're the new big-shot lawyer from back east, and I believe I could benefit from your services."

"Well Miss Lattee…"

"Please, call me Regina. Miss Lattee is my mother in law. I would hate to have her roll over in her grave over a gentlemen calling me 'Miss Lattee'."

"No, we wouldn't want that." He watched as she sat down in the chair opposite his desk. She was confident, that he could tell just from her voice and demeanor, but he couldn't help but feel she was a little nervous about being here. She looked around his office and stopped when she saw the bookcases.

"_Uncle Tom's Cabin_?" He nodded as she read a few more titles. "A good read. I really like Melville myself. _Moby Dick, Redburn_, keeps you interested." He nodded in agreement and sat down in his chair. He was intrigued by her literary knowledge, hoping this could turn into something, he wasn't sure what kind of something, but something good for him. She pulled out a long cylindrical tube, which held a few legal documents and a map.

"Well, here is my problem. You see, I own a ranch just about five miles north of here, and I've been having some property issues with my fellow land owners, well owner in particular. He keeps bringing his cattle across Donovan Creek and grazing on my lands. Now I've put fences up approximately 400 yards on the north side of the creek, which, you can see from the deed and the map, is where my land ends." Regina was pointing at the map and the deed and looking for some sort of verification from Dranoam that he was following her.

He looked at the map once again and went to his drawer and pulled out a compass. He made some adjustments and pointed this way and that, gauging the map's distance scale. He looked up and nodded at her.

"Well, you seem to have a good handle on where the land line is. How is the neighbor… wait what's his name?"

"His name is Quert Litton. He's the biggest cattle baron in southern California. My measly little 500 acres is the only grazing land he doesn't own in this region."

"Well how is Mr. Litton encroaching on your land if you've put up fences?"

"I said I put up fences, I didn't say they were still standing. He's got a ranch hand staff of twenty-five men to work all of his land, and that's just in southern California alone. I've got myself and two teenage boys that I tutor to mind 350 head of cattle. It wouldn't be hard for a few of his hands to come and tear down a few posts and push their cattle over the northern boundary. I've never seen him do it, so I don't have actual proof. Not that my testimony would mean much anyway. But my cattle are on the south fields and they've been fenced in and grazing there since January. And the grass over the northern boundary is nonexistent. He's the only man with cattle around these parts, so there is no other person it could be but him. I'm supposed to be moving my cattle to new pastures come June. What happens when all the grass is gone and there aren't any fences to hold them in? I lose cattle, which means I lose money, and then I have to sell my land. I don't know the legalities of all of this, but couldn't you draw up some contract or something? Maybe I could file suit against him?"

Dranoam was a bit overwhelmed by her plight. He had wanted change, and he couldn't of asked for a better case if he had had Vanderbilt himself come in. He wasn't expecting a woman though, and he had seen too many cases where men would tear women witnesses to shreds on the stand. She kept looking at him though. She seemed determined to take action, with or without his help. And there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he should help her out. Who knows, maybe this will be the case that jumpstarts his career here.

"Alright Regina. Here's what we'll do. You and I will go and visit Mr. Litton… uh… next Wednesday and go over the boundary lines. I will explain to him that if he does not stop tearing down your fences, you will have the option to file suit against him for trespassing and destruction of personal property."

"Wednesday? Really? Wow, that's quick! Thank you so much Mr. Dranoam. This is going to be a burden off of my shoulders." She looked at him with the smile of a seven year old, and he could tell that she was indeed relieved.

"Regina, I would like to take a look at the northern boundary of your property myself, just to assess the damage before we confront Mr. Litton." Dranoam was hoping there would be some sign that it was Litton's men who had come across the border, that way he wouldn't be pulling an extremely large bluff on his first case.

"Alright well, I'm not coming back into town til Sunday morning, for the church service and all. What if you saddle up and follow me out Sunday afternoon and we can ride north and I'll show you the broken fences."

"That sounds just fine. It was a pleasure meeting you Regina."

"And you too, Mr. Dranoam. And, well, I don't mean to pry, but Dranoam. That's an unusual name. Is there a story behind that?"

"No not really. My parents were Russian immigrants that came to South Carolina before I was born. It's just part of my heritage." He smiled at her and began to walk her to the doorway.

"I just thought I'd ask. But I'll be receiving a payment for my spring shipment of heifers sometime next week from the bank, so I should be able to pay you then."

"Let's just see how well I do on your case, and then we'll talk about payments." Dranoam reached out to shake her hand goodbye, and at the instant their fingers touched, a spark caught both of them by surprise.

"Ouch! It's this dry weather we're having. You'll get used to it after a while."

"Yea, I suppose I will," Dranoam replied.

Regina mounted her horse and turned back toward Dranoan. "I'll see you Sunday then. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dranoam."

"Same to you Miss… Regina."

And then she was galloping down the street in another cloud of dust. Dranoam headed back into his office, planning to brush up on property dispute regulations for the state of California. He was going to pull every weapon he could out of his legal arsenal for this woman, not only because she was his first real client, but because he felt he could really help her. But first, he had to find his handkerchief. She was a pretty lady, but she was going to need to wash her hands more if she planned on shaking other people's.

Across the street from Dranoam's office, a man stood in the shadows by the saloon. He had heard Dranoam and Regina's conversation, and he knew he couldn't have them confronting anybody. So he had to do something, and fast. He knew about the meetings on Sunday and next Wednesday, so he had only a few days to figure out what to do. If that meant doing something drastic, then something drastic would be done. And nobody would stand in his way.

_Reviewers get a personal house cleaning from our favorite defective detective... : D_


	4. Mr Monk Digs Deeper

_Ok, short chapter here... sorry. I just hope everyone is following the story line. Let me know if you aren't following and I'll make adjustments. I've been a bit busy lately, but hopefully this story will be completed soon. Reviews help. Just saying... Enjoy!_

"So Regina knew that Litton was encroaching on her land and she was gonna do something about it. That makes it seem like Litton would want her killed, not the other way around." Natalie was trying to follow Monk as best she could, but when he got wrapped up in something, he wasn't going to stop for slow-pokes.

"Right; it seems silly that someone would want to kill Litton when Regina was the one who was taking action. But she wasn't fighting for anything that wasn't already hers. She wasn't disrupting a balance of any kind, which is another factor that determines her innocence."

Monk and Natalie had been looking at maps and deeds for thirty minutes, discussing Regina's predicament and how Nik Dranoam fit into the picture. Monk was still having fun, Natalie could tell. His brow may be furrowed and his voice may be pitchy, but that only meant he was that much closer to figuring it out. She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes, the constant reading finally taking its toll.

Monk picked up another document and began reading it to himself. Natalie opened her eyes ever so slightly, watching Monk concentrate. She had the sudden urge to touch him, to talk to him, to hear his voice call her name, something she had contemplated more often than she liked to admit over the past several weeks… ok, months. She got up and put her hand on his back, hoping she could get his attention.

"Are you thirsty? I'm going to go get a soda. I could bring you some water."

"What? Oh… yea, sure." Monk was thinking too hard to be paying attention to her. She started walking towards the door. If he thought about her half as hard as he thought about his cases then…

"Hey, wait Natalie!" Monk turned around quickly to stop her and grabbed her hand. When they touched, there was a little bit of static shock.

"What? It couldn't wait five minutes for a soda?" She tried to sound exasperated but was secretly thrilled that he was still holding her hand. He pulled her back to her chair and pointed to a line on a paper. "What is it?" she asked.

" 'The horse and cattle tracks found at the disputed border originated in the north and then continued south onto Miss Lattee's land'. That's one of the statements Dranoam filed in his brief. He even thought to take a picture of the cattle tracks. A judge that was half drunk could figure out what that meant."

"So are you saying whoever killed Litton had the judge in his pocket?"

"I'm saying that maybe this case was never as cut and dry as people made it out to be."

_All reviewers get a free session with Dr. Bell!_


	5. Nik Dranoam Rides a Horse

_Come on, you didn't think I'd leave you with that tiny little chapter by itself did you? I'm looking out for yall. This chapter is best read when imagining Monk on a horse. Imagine the awkwardness and discomfort that would ensue... Enjoy!_

Dranoam was on a horse. A rather large, smelly, slightly intimidating black horse. He never had to ride horses back east, there were carriages for transportation. And yet here he was, on the back of a large, smelly black horse. And for what? For a fifteen minute conversation with Regina? Hours of riding for a fifteen minute conversation with Miss Lattee. Or Mrs. Lattee? He hadn't seen a ring, but she had mentioned a mother-in-law. She's probably a widow. He had heard most women in the West were. Oh well, one more piece to her story.

Regina had left her cylindrical tube of important documents at Dranoam's office, so he decided to return them to her. He had asked Davin Kneromf how to get to Regina's ranch, and he was beginning to think Davin wasn't that great with directions. He had been riding for nearly thirty minutes, and six miles on horseback shouldn't take this long. Another fifteen minutes of riding in the California heat brought him in sight of a small house, with a barn behind it and a fenced paddock in the front yard. He thought it was quaint, a picture perfect image of the American West. He saw chickens running around in front of the barn, and four horses in the gated paddock, including the sorrel Regina was riding yesterday. He rode up to the front of the house and tied his reins to a post. Just as he was thinking this wasn't the best idea, the front door swung open to reveal little-miss-gunslinger.

"Um, Mr. Dranoam, it's Saturday. What are you doing here?"

He fumbled a little bit over his words. He hadn't gotten to prepare himself before she opened the door, so he wasn't ready to see her just then. Her hair was down around her shoulders (well, it was Saturday), and she was wearing the palest of white short sleeve shirts. Stained from years in the dirt but fitted just slightly, he could tell she probably didn't wear it in public. He noticed again how blue her eyes were, but before he dug himself in too deep with his staring, he launched into and over-explanatory monologue.

"Well, you see… um… you left your papers at the office. And I could have put them in the filing cabinet, but I don't have locks for the cabinets yet and I always keep back up copies of documents and I didn't have a back up copy. And I didn't have a safe so I just took them home. But then I though you wouldn't like me having them because I might misplace them or something or they'd get taken or ruined. And I don't' work on Saturdays, so I thought I'd bring them to you so here they are and that's why I'm here." He presented the tube to her and took a step back, breathless. She took the tube and smiled.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"What?"

"Coffee… That dark, bitter drink people get from South America? Would you like some?"

"Oh, yes. Yea, coffee sounds great." He stepped into the house, not big by any standards. There was a dining table near the fireplace and he took a seat while she began grinding the coffee grounds. There was a loft overhead, with a wooden ladder attached to the wall. Probably the bedroom. There were several chairs scattered about the other side of the room, all surrounding a smaller coffee table. It smelled good, and he started to ask if she was cooking but didn't want her to think he wanted to stay for lunch.

"I hope you like it strong. I tend to make mine a little blacker than most people."

"Yea that's no problem. So, how long have you lived here?" This was Dranoam's attempt at small talk. So far, it wasn't going so well.

"I moved here about seventeen years ago. Right after I got married. I was so young back then. Only, eighteen maybe? My parents couldn't believe I was moving cross-country. Tim and I wanted to make this the biggest ranch this side of California. But after he died in the war, I just did my best to maintain what we had. I couldn't think about expansion without him." She set a tin cup in front of him and passed him the sugar bowl.

"None for you?" He asked, indicating the sugar bowl.

"Oh, no, not for me. I like it strong. Keeps me going through the day." She sat down in the chair opposite him and continued with her story.

"I don't know how I made it without Tim. I did some part-time teaching at the schoolhouse in town, enough to make money whenever the herds weren't doing well. I hired new boys every year to help me run the place. It takes a while to teach them what to do, but at least it gives them a skill they can use." She sipped her coffee and looked out the window. "You know, it's a really nice day. And you're already out here. We could take a ride up to the Northern border so you could check out those fences. No sense in you coming back tomorrow."

His backside protested vehemently at the mention of another few hours in the saddle, but he found himself saying, "Sounds like a good plan."

"Alright. Let's go saddle up and we'll be out. We can take some bread and sausage too, we might get stuck out there midday and want a snack."

He followed her outside and waited while she saddled her horse. Somehow, an embarrassing fifteen-minute conversation had turned into a morning ride and a midday picnic. Definitely worth the sore backside, he thought.

"So why did you come out here? Out West I mean," It was now her time to start the small talk.

"Just needed a change of scenery."

"That typically means you're running to something or away from something." She kept looking forward, even though she was trying to get him to open up a little more.

"I guess it's a combination of both. Running away from monotony, running to a new beginning."

"A very vague answer. How political of you." They both shared a chuckle at that. It was so easy to talk to her.

"The real reason I left back east is because of my wife. She was killed just after the war. She was a nurse who helped the soldiers who were wounded and recuperating. Being around the hospital all the time got her sick." He didn't look at her. He just wanted to leave it at that. He hadn't told anyone here why he came, and he didn't tell anyone back home why he left, although most people seemed to figure it out.

"It's hard to lose a spouse."

She didn't have to say anything else. They both knew how the other felt and just let the conversation hang in the air.

After a while, he turned to look at Regina, riding on the same sorrel as the day before. She had packed two saddlebags, one with food and one with a canteen, just in case the heat got to them. On her right side was a Winchester '72, an amazing rifle that seemed a little powerful for a woman. But he had doubted her before and was surprised; he was sure she wouldn't own a gun she couldn't handle.

"Do you always bring that gun with you?"

"Oh yea, I need a rifle if I'm doing any long range shooting. It helps keep away the coyotes. If they were up close, I'd use my pistol." She pushed her vest back to show him her gun. He didn't carry a gun, but thought he might look into getting one. They would probably be cheaper out here since they were so frequently used. He was an exceptional marksman, at least, compared to all the so-called sharpshooters in New England. They continued riding and covered a variety of subjects until they reached Donovan creek.

"OK, you can almost see the fence remains from here." She pointed across the creek and up a slight incline to some old posts lying on the ground. He was going to need a better look at the damage.

"Is there a shallow place where we can cross? I'm gonna need a better look at it."

"There's a place upstream about 300 yards, that's where the cattle usually cross. It's about three feet deep, so you might get a little wet."

He looked at his pants and his new boots he had gotten at the general store on the main strip. Oh well, he knew he couldn't keep them clean forever.

"Not a problem," he said.

They rode down to the crossing and she took the lead. He didn't want to seem squeamish in front of her, but he couldn't help but feel none of whatever was in that creek was very sanitary. Probably why she brought the canteen. This couldn't have been her main water source. They made it across safely, and both were only mildly soaked from the knee down. They rode through a bit of brush up the incline and finally made it to her fence line.

She dismounted and walked to the fence. She picked up one of the wires and showed it to him.

"There's no way this was simply torn down. Someone would have had to cut through the wires, and then push the posts down. And the tracks are headed from his property straight to the stream."

"You're absolutely right there. I really wish I could document these." He walked towards one of the broken posts and bent down to look at it. "Look at this post. The bottom of it is still in the ground. There's no way this was pushed by some rogue cow. It was chopped, with an axe or something." _There's no way we can call him on it unless we get some sort of proof_… Regina looked from the post to Dranoam, but suddenly, his eyes seemed to brighten.

"What is it?"

"Have you ever met Mr. Kneromf? The barber right beside my office?"

"Yes, yes I have. He's a bit… chatty, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, well, the day I went into his shop to ask about renting the property next door, I saw a camera."

"And that helps us how?"

"Well, if we can get the camera out here to take a picture of the tracks, then we can have some substantial proof that his cows are crossing the lines. That way it's not just your word against his."

"Because who would take a woman's word over Litton's," she turned and started ambling back to her horse.

"Yes well, that's the reality of it. He's just too powerful. Even if I corroborate your story, I'm just an outsider. My testimony wouldn't be worth anything. I think we should get the sheriff out here while we take the pictures. That way there isn't any way Litton can say we fabricated them."

"We'll have to hurry, though. It's the spring, and you never know when a storm can come through and wash away the tracks."

"You're right. If I ride back into town, I can drop by Mr. Kneromf's place and get the camera. That's the most important thing. And then I'll visit the sheriff and tell him what we're doing. If I can get the camera and the sheriff, then we can come back out here tomorrow to get the picture taken."

"That would be absolutely amazing!" Regina's voice went to the highest octave Dranoam had ever heard she was so excited. She mounted her horse as he started walking back to his. "I mean, we're really going to do this. I don't mean to insult you Mr. Dranoam, but I wasn't really expecting you to put this much effort into this. The deputy didn't even believe me the first time I told him about it."

"Wait, you reported this already?"

"Yea, about two weeks before you came here. He just shook me off, thought I was being paranoid cause I'm just a 'lil' ole gal' out west by myself, and I have to blame other people for my screw-ups. But I know how to build a fence, and those tracks didn't just magically appear."

"He should have at least followed up on it. Who is the deputy? I haven't met him yet."  
"His name is Alejandro Martinez, but most people call him Marti. He's a creep if you ask me. I really don't know how he made deputy. He just showed up about two years ago, from somewhere in Mexico. Seemed like the week after he got here he was deputy."

"Yea, that does sound a little odd. But, right now it's irrelevant. We need to get the camera and the sheriff, that way we can get the ball rolling with this thing. Tomorrow's Sunday, so I expect you'll be coming to town for church. We can ride together afterwards and fill the sheriff in on the way."

They had started riding back south and were almost at the creek. The sun had begun to drop from the vertical position it had been on their ride up there, signaling the beginning of afternoon. Nik was dirty and sweaty and he didn't like it. But the smile on Regina's face kind of made up for it all.

"That sounds like an excellent plan. Just let me know what I can do to help."

Dranoam turned to her and said in a surprisingly serious voice, "Just pray it doesn't rain."

_Reviewers get to have a go at the evil lawyer who made Monk flip last Friday.... he wasn't very nice (excellently portrayed, but the character was just plain evil)._


	6. Mr Monk Finds Something Interesting

_So, its been a while, and that's my fault. I apologize. I thank all of you for the reviews. I thank you a lot! It's been so dismal here lately I haven't been in a very creative mood, but i hope you enjoy this chapter. Here's to looking forward to the voodoo episode on Friday!_

Tic, tic, tic. That was the loudest sound in the room. The clock on the wall read 12:03. They had been in the interrogation room for almost three hours. Her only break from the paperwork had been her noneventful excursion to the drink machine. She wasn't a reader. She was a more physical person. But not Monk. He hadn't left the room all morning, and he was perfectly content to stay just where he was (at least while all the files were organized and arranged parallel to the sides of the table). She, on the other hand, was becoming restless. She got up from her chair and began pacing back and forth on the opposite side of the room.

"I really wish you wouldn't do that," Monk said, not looking up from the picture he was perusing.

"I can't help it. I'm about to go crazy, cooped up in this little room. It's a good thing I never did anything that would get me put into prison. I couldn't handle solitary confinement."

Monk looked up and raised one of his eyebrows.

"Ok, so nothing **serious** that would warrant my imprisonment. And nothing recently anyway." Does flirting to get out of a ticket count? Who cares… She can do anything she wants… She's cute. Natalie turned on her heel and started pacing behind Monk. "I don't know what else you're going to find in there. We've read every document in the file at least twice, and you've scanned every picture. Not that you can make out much of the images."

"Come on Natalie. Don't spoil this for me. Just give me a little more time." He shuffled some papers on the table, and then straightened them, and pulled out a photograph. It was a group of people at what must have been, the saloon? Maybe… In the foreground were Regina and Dranoam, posing with the Sheriff and another guy. He had on an apron. Bartender, Monk decided. But there were some other people in the background. He couldn't quite make out the faces. He knew the man sitting in the table to the right was the mayor, and he was looking back at two men behind the group of people in the foreground of the picture. Monk didn't know if it would do any good, but he tried anyway.

"Here, hold this," Monk said, handing her the picture. "No, I mean up where I can see it."

Natalie stood still and held the picture up so Monk could take a look. He held his arms out and spread his fingers, and began tilting his head slightly to the right. He came closer to the photo, and was almost touching it when he realized how close he was actually standing to Natalie. Natalie had remained silent the whole time, doing her best to hold the picture still while he analyzed it. She watched his eyes, alert, constant, scanning the picture so he didn't miss anything. The steady gaze stopped and his eyes darted back to a corner of the picture.

"I've got it!" he said. Natalie was still watching his eyes. She could always tell his emotions by looking at him (he wasn't that hard to read) and she could see he was excited from the refreshing spark that reflected there. "Look right there," he said, pointing to a light spot in the background of the picture.

"It's just a spot. A bit of overexposure."

"No, really look at it." He put the picture down on the table and gave her a magnifying glass. They both leaned over to look at the picture. Ok, close again. If they kept standing this close together, she was going to go crazy.

"See, right there. If you factor in how far away the light is from the people in the foreground, it's shining about five feet off the ground. And look in the mirror behind the bar."

Natalie could barely make out the torsos of two men, standing very close together. The mayor was looking in their direction, but she couldn't make out anything else.

"The light is a badge, Natalie. The flash from the picture caused the badge to reflect more light than anything in the background. That's the Deputy back there talking to someone. And the mayor seems very interested in their conversation. So interested, he passed up a photo opp with the rest of the group in the saloon. And what politician, a current or past one, could resist getting their face out for voters?"

Natalie saw the forms in the mirror and the light. Man, he was good. How the heck does he do that? She turned her head to ask how he figured out how high the light was when she noticed he hadn't moved. He was still leaning over her, looking at the picture, but when she turned her head, he looked up at her. Their faces were inches apart, but he wasn't fidgeting. Well, he did straighten a stray piece of paper, but he held her gaze. Like he was making an effort to not break eye contact. She wondered if she stayed in this position, how long he would stay… Knock knock. Both of them were jolted back to the interrogation room when Stottlemeyer opened the door.

"How's it coming guys?" Stottlemeyer asked, noting how close the two were when he walked in.

"Well, that depends. We haven't cracked it yet, but Mr. Monk did just find something," Natalie was internally cursing his timing, wondering if something, anything, would have happened if he hadn't of walked through the door.

In the mean time, Monk had become preoccupied with a smudge on the one-way glass and had started to wipe it with his shirtsleeve.

"Yes, in the background of the picture, the deputy is talking to a man at the bar. And the mayor seems very interested," he said to the Captain, but Monk didn't turn to face him. This was indeed a very stubborn smudge.

"Well, maybe the deputy just wanted a drink."

"No, the bartender is in the foreground. He has an apron on."

"Are you sure the mayor isn't just trying to catch a glimpse of one of the saloon girls in the back?"

"No, he's definitely eyeing those men. Besides, the clock on the wall says two o'clock. Women wouldn't be in the saloon in mid-afternoon. And the mayor has a wedding ring on, not to mention, politicians don't like to be caught in a scandal. He doesn't seem like the type of man to stray."

"Well, I don't know if this picture means anything, but you seem to be keeping yourself occupied. I just came down to check on you guys. Do you need anything?"

Natalie spoke up. "Yea, do you think you could order us some lunch? We haven't eaten anything since breakfast and it's almost one."

"Sure, I think I can handle that. I'm not really doing anything else, except getting reacquainted with the back of my eyelids. I haven't had a phone call all morning. What are you up for? Pizza? Chinese?"

"Anything but pizza. The cheese on it is reminds Mr. Monk of…" Natalie lowered her voice, "milk."

"Alright, Chinese it is," replied the Captain, sounding somewhat exasperated. "I'll let you two get back to work." The Captain walked out and shut the door behind him, but paused outside, grinning at walking in on the two of them so close. Maybe all that they've needed all these years was to be kept in close quarters. He walked down the hall to his office and looked up the number for Huang's Palace.

_Reviewers get a fortune cookie hand-delivered to them by the Captain..._


	7. Nik Dranoam Goes to the Saloon

_Yet again, sorry for so long in between updates.... It's almost October and midterms are here already! If it takes me a while to post the next few chapters, please be patient. And thank you SO SO SO much for the reviews. It makes my little writer heart do the Single Ladies dance... or just a dance in gerneral. : ) Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a lot more of the western scene to further the mystery. And there are two more characters that should look a little familiar to the fabulous Monk family. One's pretty obvious; the other had an untimely accident on the actual show. Ok, being quite now... ENJOY!_

Dranoam was really excited. It hadn't rained, and he was able to convince the sheriff to accompany him and Regina to their little picture-taking session near Donovan Creek. He had gotten in touch with Quert Litton, and he and Regina were going to meet Litton at the saloon after lunch. He was still finalizing some of the statements on his brief, but if things went according to plan, Mr. Litton would have to pay the damages done to Regina's fence and a fine for trespassing. If he refused, Dranoam had already spoken to the sheriff about possible incarceration for the man. The sheriff really didn't want to lock him up, but Dranoam could tell he was a good man, and he knew Sheriff Tresom would follow the letter of the law.

The midday heat was really taking its toll. Dranoam glanced at the clock. It was just past one. He was supposed to meet Regina and Mr. Litton at the saloon at one thirty. He packed up his papers in a pile and began his trek down the one road in Reliez Valley. He passed the barbershop, the county jail, the general store, and the church. He also passed the doctor's office and its adjoining wing that served as the mayor's office/court house. There were a few more residential buildings scattered just beyond the main strip, but they were mainly used by those who worked in the six buildings that created Main Street. He came to the last and largest building and walked in through the swinging doors. There was no one around, so he went and took a seat at the bar.

"Halloo there neighbor!" A young man with an apron on popped up from behind the bar with an extremely goofy-looking grin plastered onto his bright face. "Oops, didn't mean to startle you Mister. My name is Dary Rendish, and I am the owner of this fine establishment. What can I do you for?"

"Oh, um, I'm meeting some people so I'll just wait until they get here if you don't mind."

"I don't mind a bit. In the mean time, I hope **you** don't mind if I do some inquiring as to your person. I don't reckon I've seen you around before. Are you just passing through?" With this question, Dary leaned over the bar and pulled out a small piece of paper.

"No, my name is Nikolous Dranoam. I just moved here a few weeks ago."

"Well, hot dog! I figured you was that hot shot attorney coming from the east coast. What brings you all the way out here?"

"Just… personal reasons… and… business… Um, excuse me, but, what are you writing?"

"Oh, nothing sir. You see, I like to write about all the people who come in and out of this here place. Being the bartender, I come across a lot of unique characters. And I plan on writing a book someday. Just gotta compile a list of quirks and the like to get some good reading material. Yep, I'll be so rich I won't need to wear an apron any more," Dranoam was studying the young man very hard, trying to determine if he was serious or if he was out of his mind. "And I plan on getting published as soon as I can, as long as nothing happens to my material," Dary said, waving his little paper in the air. "You know, the Mexicans or Indians or the outlaws could take it once it's written; they're desperate for decent literature. I've seen a lot of cowboys come through here, claiming to be U.S. Marshalls or Rangers or whatever, but I really think they're working for the other side. You know what I mean?"

"No Dary, I'm sure Mr. Dranoam has no clue what any of your conspiracy theories mean," Regina marched in and saved Dranoam from the tales of bureaucratic spies and secret international rendezvous between the U.S. and Mexican governments.

"Miss Regina! Didn't know you'd be stopping by today. Is this who you're meeting Mr. Dranoam?"

"Yes, she's my first and as it stands, only, client."

"Well you got yourself a handful there Mister. I'm sure you've already figured out she's a right spit fire when she has to be."

"Yea, and you're a grade-A goofball from clown school. Get me a glass of water Dary, I'm parched," Regina settled into the bar stool beside Dranoam while Dary got her drink. "Me and Dary go way back, Mr. Dranoam. He was one of the first boys I hired to help me on the ranch. I also tutored him when he was younger. You might not can tell from his speech, but he's a fair writer, with a knack for telling some tall tales. I'm sure he's told you about his book?"

"Yes, he filled me in on the basics."

"It's going to be big. I just know it. Harriet Beecher Stowe will be writing to me and asking me for tips. Ha, ha. Are you sure I can't get you anything Mr. Dranoam?"

"Do you have any root beer?"

"You know, I might just have a case in the back. Lemme go check. I'll be back in two shakes," Dary ambled to the back room behind the bar to retrieve the drink.

"He really is a good kid. You just have to know him," Regina said.

"I'm sure."

They heard a loud crash in the back and some scuffling around as the sound of a heavy body hit the floor.

"Don't worry, I'm OK!" Dary yelled, and the two at the bar did their best to stifle their laughter.

"So, Mr. Litton is supposed to meet us here?" Regina asked.

"Yes, the sheriff is going to come by too, just to make sure Litton understands where you're coming from."

"I can't wait to get this taken care of. Then I can focus on the spring drive and moving the cows up north. What time were they supposed to meet us?"

"I told them one-thirty. Figured it would give everyone time to eat lunch and get into town."

Dary appeared out of the back with dust is his hair and dirt on his face. "Here you go Mr. Dranoam. One root beer for your drinking pleasure."

"Thanks Dary," Dranoam pulled out his handkerchief and waited until Dary's back was turned so he could wipe off the rim of the bottle. It wasn't that he didn't trust Dary, but if the amount of dust in the kid's hair was any testament to the condition of the storage room, Dranoam didn't want to take any chances.

"You know Mr. Dranoam, I'm thinking about making out a will fairly soon. Life out here can be pretty rough and I don't want this place getting into the wrong hands. Do you think you could help me out?"

"I could definitely do that. In fact, you'd be helping me out by giving me another client. But I think you've got a while before you need to start worrying about things like that. But I could help with any legalities surrounding the bar. Who issued your last liquor license?"

"Um, well, you see, I don't rightly have a liquor license persay. I just kinda serve what they bring me on the coach."

"You should really consider getting one. With all the changes in the state of things, the government's thinking about making them required for any place that sells alcohol. I can help you with that Mr. Rendish." Dranoam was eager to make friends, as well as potential clients.

"Well, I do believe this new-found partnership deserves a toast. And please, call me Dary," Dary reached back and poured himself a beer out of the tap. "To business deals and new friends."

"Cheers." The two clanked their bottles together.

"You know, you could even help me with some of the legal jargon in my book, that is, if I go with that angle."

"Just smile and nod," Regina whispered in between sips.

As the trio drank their respective drinks, they heard several deep voices and footsteps coming from the porch.

The swinging doors opened to reveal Sheriff Tresom, accompanied by a similarly dressed man Dranoam assumed was Deputy Martinez, or Marti, as Regina had called him. Following them was a stocky cowhand, whose appearance could only be described as threatening. His dark, Mexican face had seen the sun on one too many occasions, much like the way dried leather looks before it snaps. His hair was unruly, just like his attire. One of his pant legs was tucked into his boot, he wore a duster that almost drug the floor, and his dirt-stained shirt was untucked. Dranoam could see the twinkling of two shiny revolvers from underneath the edges of the man's untucked shirt, and made a mental note to acquaint himself with all exits in the room. Before he could make any more snap judgments about the man's appearance, Sheriff Tresom began the inroductions.

"Afternoon, Dranoam, Regina, Dary. Hope it's not too hot for you today."

"Well, at least there's a breeze," Dranoam would never get used to the awkward small talk.

"I'd like you to meet my Deputy, Alejandro Martinez, but you can call him Marti."

"Nice to meet you Senor Dranoam, I have heard good things about you." Dranoam gave Martinez the once-over while they shook hands. He was of average height, Mexican, and had a circular scar on his left forearm. He had a thin goatee and didn't wear a hat like most of the men Dranoam had seen. He had a firm handshake, but dirty hands. Dranoam considered the ways he could avoid shaking other people's hands during his stay in Riez Valley.

"Same here," Dranoam responded.

"And this here," Sheriff Tresom continued, "is Juan el Fuego. He works for Mr. Litton and will be representing him in our little meeting today." Tresom pointed to the threatening-looking cowhand with the two revolvers.

"You mean Mr. Litton won't be joining us himself?" Regina asked.

"No, Senora. Senor Litton fell ill last night and asked me to handle any… negotiations. I am his first cowhand, so you should know everything said here today will be directly reported to Senor Litton." Juan stepped in front of the sheriff and sat on the stool on the other side of Regina. Regina moved ever so slightly away from Juan, subsequently putting her ever so slightly closer to Dranoam. Nik liked where this was going.

"Now, what, exactly is the problem you are having with my boss Senora," Juan asked.

"Well, your _boss_ is letting his cattle tear down my fences, and if I wasn't a lady, I'd teach him a lesson and put my boot up his…"

"I think what Regina means to say is, we have collected evidence that proves some of Mr. Litton's cattle have been crossing the northern boundary of Regina's property. And there has been substantial damage done to her fences on the boundary. We will be seeking monetary compensation for the damages done, and if the trespassing continues, we will be more than happy to take Mr. Litton to court." Dranoam pulled out a folder with the photos of the cattle tracks and a form listing the prices for all the materials needed to construct new fences and the fines for trespassing. He handed the folder to Juan, and continued talking. "We have already spoken with the sheriff about this matter, and if Mr. Litton refuses to cooperate, we may have him incarcerated until the fines are paid."

"Is this true, Sheriff Tresom?"

"I'm afraid so Juan. I know Quert knows better than to let his cattle run so wild they start breaking down fences and such. And I don't want to, but I'll put him away until he pays. And you can tell him this from me: if they take this into city court in San Francisco, it won't be a nice country jail he's sitting in. He'll be in there with murderers and thieves, and I know he doesn't want that. They've got a good case, so just pay the woman what she asks for, which is a very reasonable sum, and then go about your business." Sheriff Tresom finished with a no-nonsense type attitude, which seemed to get his point across.

"I'll be sure and let Senor Litton know right away. Senorita, we will be in touch with you soon about your money. But before I go, Dary, give me a shot of something good. I've got a long ride ahead of me." Juan walked to the end of the bar and began talking to Marti while Dary got him his drink.

"Well, that went… um… better than I anticipated," Dranoam said.

"What did you think was going to happen?"

"Oh, I don't know. You hear stories about hold-ups and hostages, and I guess you just get a little carried away."

"You're darn right," Tresom said. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Dranoam. Just because they call it the 'Wild West' doesn't really make it wild." Tresom and Regina laughed while Dranoam looked down at his drink.

"What's all this in here? Congregating without letting the Mayor know? Shame on you neighbors, shame shame." The mayor Dranoam had seen on one other occasion stepped into the room, followed by Mr. Kneromf, who was lugging all of his camera equipment behind him.

"Just settling some personal business Mayor Cayle, no party or trouble." Tresom said.

"Yes well, good Mr. Kneromf did me the honor of taking a family picture of the wife and kids, so I told him I'd buy him a drink. Little did I know the place would be so busy at two in the afternoon."

"Mayor, I believe you've met Nikolous Dranoam?"

"Oh, why yes, I stopped by his office the other day. Forgive me, I wasn't feeling all that well last week, but now, I'm fit as a fiddle," Mayor Cayle enthusiastically stuck out his hand for Dranoam.

Dranoam did his best to hide a grimace as he took the mayor's hand. "Yes, Mayor, it seems something's been going around. Why Juan was just telling us how Mr. Litton has been ill." Dranoam saw the Mayor stiffen when he mentioned Juan.

"Oh… really… well, that's um… most unfortunate. I do hope he starts to feel better." Juan and Marti eyed the Mayor suspiciously and then began speaking rapid Spanish in hushed voices. The mayor did his best to remain exuberant, but Dranoam could tell he was nervous.

"I think I'm just gonna take a seat right here," Cayle moved to a table beside the bar. "Dary, my boy, give me a scotch, just to wet my whistle, and whatever Mr. Kneromf wants, put it on my tab."

"Coming right up, sir."

"Excuse me, vut, vould you mind if iz took un peekture here? I need it zto see if ze flash bulb iz still vorking. I zeenk I broke it at ze Mayor's ouse," Mr. Kneromf had been silent up until this point (thank goodness), but when Dary nodded at him, he hastily began setting up his camera.

"Ok, everybody zay lefelstrudenbichuendeir!" There was a mumbling from the people at the front of the bar, and then a very bright flash and a puff of powder.

Regina blinked her eyes several times before addressing Mr. Kneromf. "I think the flash is working just perfectly."

"O, why zank you Mizz Regina. I should really take more peektures while I zam eeere. I never use zis camera eenough."

"Yes, and that is a shame," Mayor Cayle chimed in. "But I best be going." He began moving towards the door, keeping his eye on Juan and Marti. "Here Davin, let me help you with that camera." The mayor grabbed the tripod and rushed out the door.

"I 'ope to zee you again zoon," Mr. Kneromf said, and ran to catch up with the Mayor.

"That was odd. Did you see how nervous the Mayor seemed?" Dranoam said.

"It's almost election time. All politicians are nervous. But I do believe it's time for me to get back to the jail house. Marti! You coming?" Tresom began walking out the door, and Marti followed him.

"I must return to Senor Litton's house as well," Juan said. "I will tell him all of your concerns, and I will personally speak to the rest of the cowhands. None of them will let the cows go near your northern border if I have anything to say about it. Mr. Litton will have your payment within the next few days," Juan attempted what Dranoam thought was a smile, but it came across as more of a grimace. Regina, thankfully, got the point, and simply said, "Thank you for understanding."

Once they were all out, Dranoam felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. Regina would be paid soon, and his first case had gone very smoothly. But the mayor's actions were still nagging at the back of his mind.

"I think the Mayor was nervous because of Juan. Did you see the way he started acting when he saw him at the bar?"

"I really didn't notice. Maybe you're just overanalyzing things. Most politicians act weird, especially around normal people."

"No… I think it's more than that…"

"Well, I'll let you think what you want, because you just got those guys off my back. _And _I've got money coming my way! I didn't expect them to pay the trespassing fine!"

"They haven't paid yet," Dranoam answered.

"Yes, but they will! And I know you said we wouldn't talk about payments until it was all said and done, but you can at least come over to my house tomorrow night and I'll cook you supper. I bet you haven't had a good home-cooked meal since you got here." Dranoam couldn't deny this, he had pretty much been picking a can off of a shelf and heating it, hoping whatever was inside was edible.

"I suppose dinner would be alright."

"Wonderful! Come by the house around seven tomorrow night, and you can get a proper meal."

"I'll look forward to it."

"Ok," Regina finished what was left of her water and hopped off her barstool. "I'm off to the races boys. Dary, take care of yourself, and I'll see you tomorrow Mr. Dranoam."

"Bye Regina!" Dary yelled. "You're real lucky, she makes the best chicken pot pies."

Dranoam smiled at Dary. "Really? That's my favorite dish."

_Reviewers get their picture taken in old-timey western wear with their favorite Monk character!_


	8. Mr Monk Takes a Fall

_This is for all the reviewers who stuck with this story even after the author all but gave up on it. I found the next two chapters on my computer after some hard drive cleaning and figured you guys might want a peek. I'm coming into some free time in the next month or so, so there could be an ending somewhere over the horizon. Once again, thanks to all for reading and reviewing. : )_

Amid the scattered files, chopsticks, photographs, Sierra Springs bottles and Kung-Pow chicken sat two people, one tired and full, the other on the verge of making a breakthrough.

Natalie watched as Monk read a new folder, one that held the primitive ballistics report from 1876. There wasn't much in there to go on, what with the murder weapon lying right beside the victim, Mr. Quert Litton; no tests were done to confirm its use, not that tests were even performed back in those days. Monk shrugged, rubbed his temples with his hands, and put one forefinger up to his collar to adjust the tightness at his neckline.

Natalie took in his every gesture: his posture, his disgruntled expression, his furrowed brow. The vagueness in these old folders left most of his thought process to conjecture alone, causing him more discomfort than he usually felt when working on a case. And yet, she knew that this was what he enjoyed. She had done some investigating too, much of it, like him, on the conjecture-side, to figure out what made this man tick. She figured he needed to make sense of the crimes around him because he couldn't make sense of his own life. As a child he used his powers of deduction as a coping mechanism, one that allowed him to make sense of his next-to-normal adolescence. She'd been trying to piece together theories of why he was the way he was, but lately, those theories had taken the backseat to his smiles, his occasional laughs, and his gentlemanly way of offering his arm to her as they walked down the streets of San Francisco.

She smiled to herself and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and mentally berating herself for thinking those things about her boss. But her smile grew ever larger, causing Monk to look up at her.

"If you lean back any further, you're going to fall out of that chair."

"Oh, it's ok, I've got it under control," Natalie answered. She began rocking back and forth in her chair, the same way a 4-year-old might do at a small craft table.

"Natalie, you should know that I will not attempt to revive you if you knock yourself out when you fall over backward."

"Mr. Monk, if I fall over backward, my skull will probably crack open and I'll be bleeding all over the place. You wouldn't want all that blood on the floor. I have a feeling you'd be gone and looking for help if I did fall. Plus, who says I'm going to fall over backward?"

"I did. And I could be wrong, but I'm not." He began to pace behind her, folder in hand, as she continued to rock back and forth in her own little reverie.

"So where are we with this?" Natalie asked. "Regina had just invited Nik to dinner or something." Rock, rock. "But this must have been the night of the murder cause you said he was her alibi." Rock, rock. "Do you think someone else had access to her gun? Or maybe someone came in and took it while she was…"

During the middle of her question, Natalie rocked just a bit to hard, so much so that she was toppling backward. Monk, who had been pacing behind her, saw her wobble, but caught the top of her chair just in time. The way he gripped the chair, however, caused Natalie to do a complete 180 as she fell. She landed squarely on top of Monk, hands on either side of his chest and legs straddling his waist. _O crap!_ Once again the mental beatings commenced as she struggled to articulate an apology. If someone were to walk in right now… ugh, she didn't want to think about it.

But, to her surprise, Monk wasn't fuming. He wasn't yelling, he wasn't freaking out, he was just… laughing? It wasn't like he was booming or rolling in hysterics, but it was a Monk-like laugh, something that was very rare. Natalie wasn't sure how to respond to Monk as he just lay there, under her, laughing his laugh.

"Mr. Monk, are you ok?"

"Yea, ha ha, but now I'm the one who can say 'Told you so'! And the **only** reason you are not _fired_ right now is because it's Tuesday, and the cleaning company the station uses came in here this morning and mopped with the industrial cleaner that I've been trying to get my hands on for four years. This floor is cleaner than that chair you've been sitting in all day," Monk gestured to the chair in the middle of the room with his free hand, and lightly brushed Natalie's side with his hand. She was on top of him, so she had to hide the shiver that ran through her body.

"Yea, but Mr. Monk, you've been walking around on the floor all day, you know, your shoes touching the floor. And you walked outside to get here. So, if you think about it, you're rolling around on the floor in _nature!!!_"

Monk's grin faded, and he cautiously turned his head to the right and the left. He apparently saw something that made him extremely uncomfortable, because he started squirming madly underneath Natalie.

"Now, now Mr. Monk, don't tell me you don't like a little _nature_," Natalie grabbed Monk's arms and playfully pinned them to the floor above his head and used her body weight to keep him on the floor. She laughed at his feeble attempts to free himself, but kept her own body situated on top of Monk so he couldn't get up without completely throwing her across the room.

"Natalie, get off of me now," Monk said as he continued his squirming.

"Um, no, I don't think I will. You were the one laughing at me earlier."

"I'll delay your check for this month."

"It's already late."

"I'll make you organize my closet with all of my disinfectants in it."

"You did that two nights ago."

"I'll… um… make you…um…" Monk was at a loss for words. His inability to come up with an ultimatum that she would agree to caused him great discomfort.

"You see, you've been arguing with me this whole time and you didn't even notice you've been laying on the floor for a whole five minutes." Natalie leaned over so her face was directly over Monk's, and continued in a softer tone, "Sometimes its not as bad when you've got someone to… you know, hit the deck with you."

Natalie watched Monk, his face unreadable. She didn't know when it happened, but at some point, Monk had freed one of his hands and was now tucking a stray piece of hair behind Natalie's ear. His hand lingered near her cheek, and she decided to take a little chance. She turned her face into his touch, so that he seemed to be cradling her head. His hand was so warm and it just… _fit. _Suddenly, the space between them seemed to decrease dramatically. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and his hand had migrated to the base of her neck, where he seemed to be pulling her closer. _What is going on? Is this for real? Why is he doing this? _She was mere centimeters away from his lips when a loud _**bang**_ sounded out in the hallway.

The two of them jumped up and separated faster than Michael Phelps' freestyle and proceeded to maintain a ten-foot radius from each other. They stared at each other for what could have been seconds or years, until they heard a knock at the door.

"Hey kids, I just dropped by with another folder. Apparently things get misplaced over a century." The captain came in, semi-happy, semi-groggy (apparently still snoozing on his slow day) and tossed the file onto the table.

"What happened here?" he asked, indicating the overturned chair.

Natalie and Monk looked at each other, to the chair, and then back to each other.

"I just leaned too far back and fell over. You know, clumsy me." Natalie hoped her answer would be enough for the captain. Julie had once told her that ambiguity was just as nice as that thing over there. "I'm fine though. But are you alright? We heard a bang or something in the hallway."

"Yea, I'm ok," the captain replied. "I just ran into the water cooler outside in the hall. But here's your new file, I don't know if it will do any good but have at it all you want."

"Thanks captain," Monk said as he followed him out the door.

"Your welcome Monk. Say, have you actually made any progress with the case?"

"Depends on your definition of progress…Hey wait a minute." Monk raised his hands and spread his fingers once again, focusing his attention on the water cooler. "So, you came from the evidence locker, right?"

"Yea, why?"

"Well, if you ran into the cooler like you said you did, the cups from the dispenser should be scattered everywhere. They're on the right side, and you were coming from right. You would have hit them…" Monk's brain was going ninety to nothing trying to figure out why the cups weren't scattered everywhere. "And you wouldn't have had time to put them back from when you knocked on the door. Why did you make that loud noise?"

Leland just shrugged. "I guess you got me Monk. I never could get away with anything while you were around. Let's just say I figured it was best that I make my presence known." And with that statement and a smug smile, he turned on his heel and left a slightly embarrassed Monk standing in the corridor.

_Some bang, _Monk thought. _Not nearly as loud as a gun shot…_

_Dum, dum, dddddddduuuuuuuummmmmmmm....!  
_


	9. Nik Dranoam Goes to Dinner

_What? Two chapters in one day?! Yes, it's true dear friends, I found TWO chapters on my computer. Hopefully these will keep you tied you over until that creative muse I've been looking for finally shows up.I still appreciate all the reviews you gave, and I think reviews might help me push this story even further along. And so, back to the days of bustles and cattle drives..._

The sun had just begun his descent over the horizon as Dranoam set out on his horse. The evening, not quite twilight, was cooler than it had been for the past few days, and a pleasant breeze blew past. The clouds were beginning to darken, however, signaling a possible storm. The refreshing wind caused Dranoam to quicken his pace, so he prodded his poor Quarter Horse into a steady gallop. He made great time, passing by the California desert on his way to Regina's. He was truly excited she had given him the chance to represent her, and now she was the one who was thanking him with a home-cooked meal. Dranoam saw her small house in the distance, and eased his gait to a canter and then a trot. As Dranoam dismounted, he made note of the threatening clouds overhead, hoping the rain would hold off until he could make it back to town.

He ambled up to Regina's door, removed his hat, and knocked.

"Come on in!" Regina shouted, and Dranoam opened the door. The table was set for two, with a basket of wildflowers in the center and a candle burning for a little light. Regina was over by the wood-burning stove, reaching in and emerging with the biggest pot-pie Dranoam had ever seen. The smell of it made his taste buds tingle, but he controlled his urge to devour the whole thing before she even placed it on the table.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" he asked, not wanting to seem like a rude dinner guest.

"No, I think I've got about every thing settled here. The wash basin is over in the corner is you'd like to wash your hands."

Dranoam quickly crossed the room and poured the water over his dusty hands, using the available rag to wipe his face. The dust out there didn't settle well, and he still wasn't used to wearing a bandana over his face. He felt too Jesse James-ish.

When he finished, Dranoam turned around and headed toward the table. He stopped dead in his tracks though, when he got a good look at Regina. She was wearing a dress, a deep emerald with black trim that buttoned up her torso and draped in tiered ruffles around her waist. It was the first time he had seen her minus the revolver and duster, which made Dranoam turn mute momentarily. Her hair hung in curls over her shoulders, a sharp contrast to the usual stiff up-do she wore under her hat. She was beautiful, to say the least, but Dranoam only hoped he hadn't embarrassed her by staring as long as he did. He continued to the table and took his place and smiled as Regina poured him some water.

"I really just can't thank you enough Regina, it was so nice of you to invite me over."

"It's no problem really. I hardly ever get to entertain anymore, what with my cowhands back in school. But I love a good chicken pot-pie, and I never much seem to find an occasion for cooking one."

"Well, thank you for letting me be your occasion."

They each held their glasses up to toast the other, and proceeded with their meal in the most amiable fashion. They talked about the war, about literature, about music, about Dary down at the bar and the sheriff up town; they talked about Regina's case and the prospect of a big check coming to her in the next few days. Dranoam offered to help Regina clean the dishes, and as he washed and she dried, they laughed and talked even more while the moon smiled at them through the window. The clouds shifted over the moon, casting a dark veil over the desert outside, but Dranoam and Regina were oblivious to the darkness with the fire burning and the lanterns dancing brightly on the walls.

"I think you missed a spot," Dranoam pointed out a smudge on the plate.

"It's ok. I rarely eat off of these plated anyway."

"Which is all the more reason to keep them clean. You don't want them dirty in case you ever _do_ want to use them." Dranaom quickly wiped at the smudge before Regina could protest further. "There, much better."

"You know, you're kinda finicky about things sometimes."

"It's all in the details. Details make the case, therefore they put food on my table. I'm used to searching for the details." Regina simply smiled while they finished up the last of the dishes.

"You know, you really didn't have to go through all this trouble tonight." Dranoam said.

"Like I said earlier, I hardly ever get to entertain."

"No, I mean, you know…" Dranoam said awkwardly, indicating the dress.

"Oh, yea well, when else am I going to wear it? It's not like I'm going to show up at Dary's in this thing. He'd want to hire me as a dancer or something."

"Yea but…" Dranoam reached up to Regina's face to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "You looked beautiful before too. It's not like you need a dress to show anyone that."

"Beautiful?" She asked, stepping closer to him.

"Of course," he replied, and reaffirmed his statement by placing his lips over hers in a sweet, endearing manner. He pulled away, not wanting to intimidate her, and watched for a reaction. Her eyes fluttered open with a look of surprise, but she didn't seem angry. She edged closer to Dranoam and lifted her head to his this time, kissing him gently but deeply, as rain started to pour outside of her window. They pulled apart at last, just holding each other, listening to the rain outside. Thunder boomed and lightening crashed, sending spurts of light across the California sky. Dranoam looked out the window and then strode to the front door.

"I need to get the horses into the barn!" he yelled over the thunder. Regina nodded, and Dranoam sprinted through the downpour to the fenced paddock. He opened the gate and guided the horses into the nearby stables. He took his quarter horse and put him in one of the stalls and made his way back to the house. On the way there, he thought he saw the shadow of a man, but only in the lightening flash could he make out a shape.

"Hey! Who's there!" he yelled, but the rain muffled his shouts. He marched to where the figure had stood, but the lightening flashed again and the figure was gone. The rain would wash away any footprints, so he couldn't be certain of anyone's presence. He didn't want to worry Regina, so he went back to the house.

"I got all of them in the barn," he said. "And I put Big Charlie in there too, just until the rain passes."

"You're soaking wet, you could catch pneumonia in that. Here, let me go get you some dry clothes. Go stand by the fire in the meantime." Regina climbed the ladder to her loft, quite skillfully Dranoam observed, as she was wearing a floor-length dress. She returned, seconds later, with a pair of men's trousers and a shirt. She herself had also changed from her dress to her normal attire. How she got out of those buttons so quickly was a complete mystery to him. He climbed up next and changed. The shirt was a little small in the shoulders, but it would do for now. He climbed back down to find a worried Regina staring out the window.

"It's completely horrible out there. And the clouds aren't moving at all. It could keep this up all night." Dranoam looked up at the sky, as if somehow the clouds had an answer. "I'll go make up pallet for you," and Regina turned on her heel and got a quilt from an old chest.

"Whoa! Wait, I can't let you do that for me… I mean, I don't want you to feel like you have to because, you know, of what happened earlier. I don't want people to think…" He left that sentence unfinished. "I can wait until it slacks off a bit and then head back. It didn't take me twenty minutes to get here earlier."

"Yes, and it wasn't raining, your horse was galloping the whole way, and there wasn't a chance for a mud slide. Let's see, your life and wellbeing versus an insubstantial rumor that **might** happen if you stay here." She held up both her hands in a balance-like fashion and let the one representing his wellbeing drop dramatically. "I think we have a winner. You'll stay down here, I'll be up there, there's nothing wrong with that." She walked closer to him.

"And as far as what happened earlier," She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him again, letting her lips linger on his ever so slightly when she broke for air. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." Regina climbed to the loft and put out the lantern that was up there. "I'll see you in the morning Nik."

Dranoam put out the fire and then settled onto his pallet. He blew out the lantern by his side, listening to the rain. Through the noise, he thought he heard a gunshot, but he just rolled over and convinced himself it was the thunder. He felt he would have very pleasant dreams that night.


End file.
